


Better Than the Movies

by Swordlesbiab



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caring, Fluff, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not really hurt, Romance, its softe(tm), just tired, non-sexual nudity (because of the bath), they're in /love/ love you know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordlesbiab/pseuds/Swordlesbiab
Summary: Curt's mission has stretched on far too long, and all he wants to do is relax.





	Better Than the Movies

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the SAF discord, love yall nerds. This is also for the gays, as is everything I write.

Curt stumbled into another dingy room in yet another rundown motel, his head swimming from the day he'd had, and every single identical day before it. He took in his surroundings briefly. Nothing seemed out of place, but he didn’t have the energy to check too closely. He knew there was probably some bug or another lying around in here that Cynthia would chew him out for not neutralizing before he went to sleep, but Curt couldn’t give less of a shit. This mission felt like it had gone on for years; even the knowledge that this room and this motel would be the last of them before he was due to wrap this shit up was unable to soften the ache in his legs from yet another day in the glamorous life of Curt Mega, secret agent. After two months spent chasing an arms dealer through Central America, he’d even take incident reports over another day in the field, but there was still a good few day’s work to be done here before he got to start on those. His watch beeped with an incoming message.

 

“Curt?” Came Barb’s voice, tinny through the speaker.

 

“Hey Barb, what’s up?”

 

“Good work out there today, agent! You managed to run the targets straight into one of our cells in the city! I didn’t even know we had agents stationed here, and you found that out on your own? You’re really something else, Curt Mega. Anyway! The targets are being processed now, but we’ve got other agents handling that. You’ve been out here long enough already, we’re bringing you home.”

 

Her message was met with a long pause as Curt scrambled to process. He hadn’t known that the CIA had cells in Panama either, let alone that he’d managed to stumble on one. That was the kind of luck reserved for the movies, where missions were over and done in two hours, in a string of car chases and explosions and pretty girls swooning into your arms. He could pass on that last one, to be perfectly honest. Girls were hardly Curt’s forte, and the pretty boy he wanted in his arms right now wasn’t exactly the swooning type. 

 

“Curt?” Barb tried again, “Are you still there?”

 

Curt startled at the voice. He’d hardly realized he’d been leaving Barb hanging. “Yeah, yeah I’m here. Sorry Barb, just tired. Long day, you know?”

 

“Well rest up! You’ve got a flight to catch in the morning. The details are under the binding of the bible in your nightstand.” She chirped.

 

“Oh, so we’re destroying bibles now? What has America come to?” Curt quipped, reaching for the drawer in question.

 

“Curt, I know you’re Jewish. Sleep well, and don’t be late to our meeting tomorrow. You’d better still have the pin I gave you.” Barb shot back. 

 

“You know, I must have dropped it somewhere in Ecuador, haven’t seen the thing in weeks, gotta go Barb, bye!” Curt rushed through his handler’s protests before signing off and removing the pin from his collar to release the tiny knives hidden inside. Gotta keep Barb on her toes.

Curt cut open the binding of the bible, feeling slightly guilty at the tinge of satisfaction. Being a Jewish kid growing up in Nowhere, USA hadn’t exactly been easy. He was entitled to his bit of resentment, he thought, ripping the cover with a little more force than strictly necessary to get at the paper hidden inside. He scanned the instructions: his pickup was in a field a little over a mile away at 5 in the morning. He’d have to wake up by 3 to get there unnoticed and on foot. Curt checked the clock: it was midnight. Shit. He rushed through his night time routine before collapsing into bed with a groan. His muscles seemed to be protesting the lack of sleep already. 

 

“One more night.” Curt muttered as his eyes slid shut.

 

* * *

  
  
  


The shrill scream of Curt’s watch woke him far too early, only years of training pulling his body out of bed and into a cold shower. It was lucky he had to wake himself up, because Curt was pretty sure this place hadn’t seen hot water in years. It certainly hadn’t seen a bar of soap. Curt stepped out feeling slightly more alert, but just as grimy as before. Packing his stuff took less than a minute, and then he was off; one hand on his gun as he picked a route through the city that he was almost, mostly, entirely sure meant nobody was following, before slipping into the woods and heading to the pickup site. The chopper was waiting for him when he got there, thankfully with a pilot already assigned. Curt was shit at flying at the best of times, he’d hardly make it into the air half asleep like this. 

 

“Agent Mega? All cows eat grass.” The pilot stated in a curt monotone.

 

“Good boys deserve fudge always, my man. Take me home.” Curt sighed, the last bit of apprehension fading as he gave his end of the code. He swung himself up into the passenger seat, grabbing the offered earmuffs and protein bar with a grin. The bar tasted like cardboard, but it was a breakfast, which was better than he’d expected. The flight back to the US was mostly silent other than the pilot announcing a quick stop to refuel and grab a bite to eat, which suited Curt fine. He was dropping off again even over the roar of the blades. When they finally landed back in Washington, he felt almost human again, which was as good as he ever felt after a successful mission, so he supposed it was okay.

 

After his meetings with Barb and Cynthia, in which he was berated for losing the pin (until he produced it from his pocket, after which he was berated for taking 5 years off Barb’s life), for finishing a mission on pure dumb luck (Cynthia had correctly assumed he hadn’t known about the cell he’d run into), and for not doing anything embarrassing before bed (there had in fact been a bug in his room), Curt was slapped with a dossier of forms and reports to fill out, and finally,  _ finally _ , after what felt like forever and a half, dropped off on the doorstep of his apartment.   

 

He unlocked the door and stumbled inside, ready to take a hot bath, nurse the aftereffects of his meeting with Cynthia over a tall glass of activated charcoal, and sleep for three days straight. His perfect night would have gone off without a hitch, if it weren’t for the fact that there was somebody in his home. Curt could tell from the moment he stepped inside; something in the smell was off, and his things weren’t where he’d left them two months ago. Leaving the lights off, and carefully drawing his gun, Curt slipped off his boots and crept into his apartment with a heavy, if unvoiced, sigh. Could the universe not give him a break? 

 

“Drop the weapon, Mega.” Barked a heavily accented voice. It took Curt a moment to place the accent, but he wanted to say German? “I said drop it!” The intruder repeated.

 

“Owen, I don’t even want to know how you got in here.” Curt responded.

 

“Oh, come on, love! I thought that one was rather good.” His partner teased, dropping the fake accent and flipping on a lamp.

 

“The accent? Sure it was, but I’d know you anywhere.” Curt replied, setting the gun down as Owen pulled him into his arms, taking advantage of the slight height difference to lay his head on top of Curt’s. “Mm.” He hummed into Owen’s neck, “Missed you.”

 

“I missed you too, darling. So much. Now come, let’s get your things inside, and then we’ll see about getting you out of this.” Owen plucked at Curt’s collar disdainfully. It was only then that Curt realized how filthy his clothing was. First time seeing him in two months, and Owen got greeted with a noseful of BO. Lovely. 

 

“Definitely. Yes. God, baby, you don’t know how exhausted I am.” He sighed, grabbing his bag from the door, before shutting it and triple checking his locks. The neighbours here were good at keeping their mouths shut about each other’s personal lives, but Curt wouldn’t give them an excuse to talk if he could help it.

 

“I think I have an idea. Remember Siberia?” Owen chirped, stepping into the bathroom. Curt heard the faucet turn on.

 

“Do I ever. You were a mess after that one.” He answered as he tossed his bag on the floor of his room. Owen would complain, but Owen could get fucked, he wasn’t unpacking now.

 

“Yes exactly, and thank you dear. You always know just how to stroke my ego, don’t you?” Owen grumbled. Curt laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

 

“Your ego doesn’t need it, doll. How naked do you want me, exactly?” 

 

“Oh, as much as possible, always.” Owen quipped. “At least, I’ve never had a bath otherwise, have you?”

 

“I’m rather fond of socks in the shower.”

 

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

 

“That’s fair.” Curt murmured, settling behind his partner on the rim of the bathtub and burying his face into the crook of Owen’s neck. One of Owen’s hands drifted up to stroke his hair, while the other stirred the tub, which was pleasantly steamy, and smelled vaguely floral. “Did you bring your fancy-ass bath salts all the way from England just for me?”

 

“No dear, these are from the department store down the road. The lady gave me a wonderful deal on them and I was picking up some new bed sheets anyway, because lord knows you need them.” 

 

“Still just for me, though.” Curt said, choosing to focus on the positive, and not the jab at his bedding.

 

“Always. I think that’ll do, don’t you?” He said, gesturing to the water, “We don’t want a mess on the tiles.” 

 

Curt shrugged. It really didn’t matter much to him one way or the other, but Owen was fussy about these things. “If you say so. I’ll take your word.”

 

“Always a wise decision. Get in.”

 

Curt slipped into the bath with a groan, and looked up to see Owen staring down at him with eyes like melted chocolate; warm and sweet and oh so easy to get lost in. He stretched out with a sigh. “Pretty sure we’ve got room for two in here.” He suggested.

 

“As delightful as that sounds, I’ll let you have this one. If Cynthia is as charming as ever, I imagine you’ve got a bit of a stomach ache right about now?” Curt sighed and nodded. Getting poisoned was all part of a standard meeting with his boss, something something training him out of just drinking shit. He never really listened to that bit. “I’ll get you something for that then.”

 

Owen got up to go, and Curt sank beneath the water with a sigh, letting the heat soak out all the grime that quick showers never seemed to make a dent in. All too soon, his lungs began to protest, and he heard Owen’s footsteps make their way back from the kitchen. Owen nudged open the door, carrying a small glass of thick, black sludge. Curt shuddered, but took it, downing the whole thing in one gulp.

 

“That’s  _ vile _ .”

 

“That’s what you get for drinking anything Cynthia hands you.”

 

“If I don’t, I get shot!”

 

_ “Americans.” _

 

The exchange was as familiar as the stomach ache, and much more comfortable, though Curt still found himself longing to be even closer to his lover. It had been far too long since he’d been cuddled properly, though he’d never admit to wanting it out loud. Owen handed him a mug of mint tea in exchange for the glass, and Curt grinned up at him as he took it. 

 

“You wouldn’t kiss me if I tasted like charcoal?” He asked, with all the faux-innocent charm he could muster. Owen sighed, and settled onto his knees on the ground.

 

“Curt, darling, love of my life. No.” He responded, sending Curt into a fit of laughter before breaking off into an appreciative groan as Owen began to massage shampoo through his hair. 

 

“I can do that myself, you know.” He said, without any real conviction.

 

“I know,” Owen hummed, “But I’m taking care of you right now, you prat. Rinse.” Curt did. Owen ran his hands through the water to remove the traces of shampoo, before grabbing a conditioner from the lineup of products Curt hadn’t noticed him assembling. Curt leaned back, sipped his tea, and decided that being coddled for a bit was just fine by him. Soon enough, the water was more dirt than anything else, and cooling fast besides. Owen helped Curt out, which was more necessary that Curt would have liked - baths had a way of melting his limbs straight down to jelly. Curt only managed to grab one of the fluffy towels set on the counter for a moment before it was snatched away from him. Owen was really determined to not let Curt do anything for himself, wasn’t he? Once Curt was sufficiently dried off, Owen took him into his arms, pressing kisses into his dampened hair.

 

“I finished the tea.” Curt mumbled, sinking into the embrace. He felt Owen’s smile against his ear.

 

“I suppose I’ll have to kiss you then.” He answered. “But do brush your teeth first.”

 

Curt did, before following Owen to the bedroom, where a set of pajamas was waiting on the bed. He stepped forward, slipping his arms around his partner’s waist. “Owen Carvour, are you trying to pamper me?”

 

“Succeeding, I should think.”

 

“You’re not wrong. When I go soft and get myself killed, it’s gonna be all your fault.” He joked.

 

“Curt, please.” Owen said, slightly strained.

 

“I know, I know. No morbid humour when you’re being romantic, I get it.” Curt conceded, pulling on the pajamas and falling into bed. He reached his arms out, and found himself with an armful of Owen, wearing a put out expression that Curt decided it was his new, self-appointed mission to erase.

 

“I’m serious, Curt. You were gone too damn long, I was worried.” Owen said, rolling over so that the two were lying face to face.

 

“I know, baby. I know. I’m sorry.” Curt soothed, pulling up the covers around them and pulling Owen’s face to his as he peppered his brow with kisses.

 

“Not your fault.” Owen muttered. “It’s this damn job. Not suited for falling in love.”

 

“And yet I love you.” Curt said, cupping Owen’s jaw in his hand and sweeping his thumb along his cheekbones. Owen smiled at him, and the last two months melted away as they kissed. 

 

“I love you too.” Owen sighed, kissing Curt again, and one more time after that for good measure. “Get some rest, love. I’ll be right here in the morning.” With that, he rolled onto his back, pulling Curt closer as he did. Curt listened to his partner’s breath even out as he fell asleep. Owen must have had a long day too, he realized, to get here and prepare all that as soon as he heard Curt was on his way back. 

 

Curt closed his eyes, and tried to breathe in time with Owen's heartbeat, strong and steady under his ear. He decided, head pillowed on Owen’s chest and wrapped up tight in his arms, that the spy movies, and the agencies, and any other damn person with anything to say about his love, had their priorities all wrong. Who needed to be the lone wolf, the untrustworthy and untrusting antihero with a nameless beauty on his arm and a gun under his pillow while he slept? This was so, so, so much better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~ Drop a kudo, drop a comment, drop the remaining tracks from the Hadestown OBC Recording (Please)  
> I'm also on tumblr as theguywhodidntlikeblogs, feel free to come say hi!


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